


Lost To Truth And Love

by Taz



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taz/pseuds/Taz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a very early effort--Valentine's day 1999.</p></blockquote>





	Lost To Truth And Love

He couldn’t sleep because of the long curl of hair that had caught in a tangle behind his ear. When, finally, he shook it free, all of the memories pored over him and he was overwhelmed by the image of his beloved, a kneeling supplicant with forehead scraping the stone floor, arms crossed and tied behind with a thin leather lashing. Ares could see, in his mind, dark roses blooming on the golden skin, the kisses of the strap that skipped across the powerful back and buttocks.

It tore a scream from his throat. He rolled over, desperate as his lover had been, for some shred of comfort, burying his nose in the pillow he was clutching. He searched it for the sea salt smell of sex that the soft linen case had been pungent with once. Now the scent was faint and his beloved was dead. The sheets would never be perfumed again with his sweat or stained with his semen or his blood.

He lifted his head thinking he could still hear a voice, thick with desire and urgent with need, crying, “harder” as the powerful body jerked with every slap of the leather. He had always responded to the need; done it harder until his beloved had had enough of the strap. Until enough blood was leaking from the striped back and the heavy cock was weeping its slow tears.

Ares would raise him to his knees lifting the tawny head and press their faces together, and his lover would close his blue eyes and turn away as though not deserving the benediction of a kiss, but still rubbing against him like a lion on heat, ass high in the air, begging Ares to mount him. Then he would kneel beside his lover petting, soothing the sweet hot ass that was dark red and almost too tender to touch, listening to the whimpering, hungry grateful sounds. His thumb would trace the crack and find the moist hole, circle it, feeling it loosening and opening to him while his fingers cupped the soft velvet sack beneath gently rolling the eggs within it. He would reach forward and stroke the long shaft slowly poking at its blind weeping eye. Then he would go back and pester and tease the hole, plundering it deep, searching out the spot that made his beloved loose all control and try to fuck his fingers, thighs spread and crying for it.

And Ares, pushing the thick blunt head of his cock slowly into the molten fire, would penetrate inch by inch until the sweet ass was full of him. He could look down knowing he owned the body shuddering and sweat slick under him. He could pull it back, arched like a bow, locking his beloved in his arms, the man’s head resting on his shoulder, their bodies pressed together from head to thigh and the entire vulnerable length of his lover’s neck, chest, belly and cock exposed. The cock, ivory and red tipped would be searching for his hand and he would cuff it whispering ‘cunt, you’re are only a cunt, a sheath for my cock, a tool for my use’ and, despite the lie, the hot, bright mind would surrender to him. For just a few moments as his hips rocked with each deep stroke of the god’s cock in his ass, the man in his arms would know peace.

“I owe you for this,” the other god had said. Well, certainly, something was owed.

Ares stood at the foot of the bed, the smell of candles just blown out still hung in the air and the other god was sleeping fitfully in his bed of furs and linen. There was a long curl of hair caught up in a tangle behind his ear and as he tossed it sprang free and coiled about the cove of a temple. Ares opened his hand and blew power softly over the sleeper: bloody hearts and red roses and the scent of rue all fell down.

The sleeper calmed and turned on his back; Ares reached down and pulled the linen away. Identical, they had the same body, the same wide shoulders, broad pectoral plates, and richly patterned fur on the stomach and long legs. The same cock, ruddy in its nest of black curls that was filling and ticking off the minuets as it rose against the sleeper’s belly and then stood up proud, Ares could feel swelling his leathers.

The sleeping god’s lips parted and he made little sounds of pleasure. A hand reached out as though to touch something that wasn’t there and Ares smiled as the dreamer’s tongue flicked out to taste the sweat on an absent lover’s breast and lips pursed to suck a phantom nipple. The sleeper’s back arched and his thighs spread, cock thrusting into the air. Ares untied the points of his cod and freed his cock to his hand.

The sleeper reached down as though to guide someone’s mouth to the head of his cock and he made a little sound of annoyance when the hand failed to find warm flesh. Ares raised his hand to his mouth, smelling the musk of his sex on it, and blew across it again. The sleeper’s hand wrapped around his own cock, relaxing and smiling as it began to fly up and down milking the shaft. Ares could see the gleaming seep that slicked the tip, lubricating the hand as it flew and his own hand echoed every stroke. The sleeping god’s other hand found the soft bag beneath his cock and began to play there and the noises that he was making were both desperate and affectionate. He was calling the lover’s name over and over, urging him to suck harder as thighs wide open he thrust, calling him ‘beloved’ as he came, cock spurting into the air and spattering his stomach.

Ares came with him, catching the semen in his hand. As his body convulsed, the sleeper opened his eyes in confusion and Ares was on top of him grabbing a handful of dark curls, jerking the other god’s head back. He forced the handful of cream into his mouth, smearing it over his lips, and holding him until it was swallowed. When it was gone, he stayed where he was holding the other god down as he gagged and choked on it.

“What have you done?” the God of War demanded when he could breathe again.

“Paid a debt,” Ares said, “but I don’ think you’ll like the coin,” 

“Let me up,” the god ordered, starting to struggle. Ares took hold of his hair and slammed his head down again.

“Stop it! You can’t win against me. You killed my lover. I owed you a debt for that.”

“The only person I killed from your world was…” the God of War subsided, looking up at the God of Love in horror. “No!”

“Yes. For all of his pain,” Ares let go of the other god’s hair and stroked it gently back into some kind of order, “I couldn’t love him enough to free him from it. You did that for him. I never could.” Beneath him, the other god started to writhe and he released him to turn on his side and clutch at a pillow

“What have you done?” the God of War asked again, Ares could see his tongue tasting his lips.

“Given you the truth,” Ares said.

 

 

_The end_

February 1999

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very early effort--Valentine's day 1999.


End file.
